


Void of Flowers

by Slends



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Dreams, Flowers, Original Character - Freeform, Other, gaster's followers - Freeform, slight body horror, w d gaster - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-01
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-13 00:15:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29767788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slends/pseuds/Slends
Summary: Sam learns a hidden language at the same time that she gains something that will save her life.
Kudos: 5
Collections: Gaster's Followers February 2021





	Void of Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> Here we go again.

Sam was ten when she learned that flowers had a language all their own. That year, spring was reluctant to take over from winter's icy fingers, with temperatures rarely cresting twenty degrees, and a fine dusting of snow that simply would not melt under the Sun's rays, even as small pockets of green stubbornly stuck out from beneath the blanket of white. That year, Sam had fallen in crush with a girl in her class whose hair shone like fire, and whose eyes sparkled whenever she spoke of anything that interested her. The girl was wild, charismatic, and everything Sam once wished to be only a few years prior. Everything Sam still wished she could be, even as the thought of being that outgoing made her shake with worry. 

The day before Valentines, Sam's mother had packed her and her older sister into her Red BMW and taken them into downtown Ebbott to a florist shop which smelled of Basil, and felt oddly like a cottage that had been built around when the other structures were made, rather than a place that was built into the existing structures. Inside, a young woman with a kind smile had coaxed Sam's desire to express herself to her classmate, without fully exposing herself.

"Flowers are a subtle way, to express your feelings to another." The Florist had explained to the wide-eyed Sam. While Sam's mother and sister busied themselves looking for flowers of their own, Sam followed the flouriest around as she pointed at, and explained each and every flower. 

In the end, Sam had a veritable bouquet of flowers, to present to her Crush. White Carnations, for good fortune and to express the pureness of Sam's intentions. Pink Roses both for color, and as an expression of how happy her crush made her. White jasmine, forget-me-nots, and Asters, all with similar expressions of devotions and caring. The flouriest wrapped her flowers in a pale pink paper, and held it closed with a purple ribbon. Sealed to the ribbon, was the visage of a Edelweiss, symbolic of courage. It was her crush's Bravery and Charisma that drew Sam to her, after all. 

Holding her bundle of flowers as though it were the most precious thing in the world, Sam recited her message over and over in her head, as her Mother checked out. As the three of them drove home. As she laid down for rest that very night...and as she prepared for the day on the following morning. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest, fluttering with an anxiety she'd never be able to properly express. More than anything though? There was boundless excitement, which kept the darker of her nightmares away, allowing only boundless hope. 

Sam was Ten when she learned that simply because a language existed, did not mean that others spoke it to any degree.

Sam had presented her crush the Bouquet of flowers before class began, a bashful smile on her face. A smile that fell quickly at the confusion worn plainly by the girl. 

"They're symbolic of my feelings." Sam had offered, hoping to encourage a reaction beyond confusion. And she succeeded.

"There's no red... don’t you know you're supposed to get red for Valentine's Day?" the words, asked bluntly if not maliciously, caused Sam to recoil sharply. "It’s mostly white…I don't like the color White. It's boring. I don't want them." 

Understanding came after the hurt had already gripped tight in her chest like a vice. The Flouriest worked with flowers every day, and probably knew every single meaning to them...but to nine- and ten-year-olds? Flowers were just flowers. Sam wasn't even aware that the bundle had fallen from her arms as she fought to keep the tears and furious embarrassment in check.

"Right...sorry..." Sam managed to choke the words out, not liking how her voice cracked. She felt set up for failure, and wondered why the Flouriest, an adult, hadn't realized what she so painfully realized now. The other kids in the classroom laughed, and Sam found herself feeling so incredibly small. She just wanted to disappear from the center of attention, but the classroom wouldn't let it go.

Throughout the rest of the school day, they would bring it back up in lectures, poke fun at her, tease her. She quietly endured the teasing, fearful that she had messed up her one chance at friendship with her very popular crush forever. She kept repeating that one moment, over and over again until she felt as cold as the weather outside. 

The end of the school day couldn't come quick enough. The weekend couldn't come quick enough. When the bell rang, Sam all but threw herself up from her desk, bag half grasped in her hand as she ran. If her mother noticed her distress, she didn't comment on it. If her sister noticed, she also didn't comment. Dad didn't come home again that night, and the three of them partook in a imitation of a family dinner, before Sam excused herself to her room. She took one of her favorite books from off the shelf, and curled into her blankets, loosing herself between the pages rather than focus on how her body shook. Trying to forget the face of her classmate, which her brain had already warped to one of disgust. Trying to block out the voices of her peers self-loathing, thousands of words left unsaid and but surely thought. 

***

Sam was situated at the epicenter of a field of yellow Carnations. The flowers stretched as far as the eye could see beneath a canopy of darkness. Were it not for the faint glow of the carnations, their stems emerging from the earth, their roots wrapping around each other--around her, it would be darker yet in the field. She ached, her chest pulsating with a feeling she could not put words to. An emotion so visceral that it had her in tears, which streamed down her cheeks to further nourish the roots which clung to her--grew from her very veins. The flowers fed off the negative emotions which threatened to drown her so very thoroughly. She felt…alone. Isolated and left only with her embarrassment and the judgement of others. Slowly, as the ache in her chest grew and the roots wrapped her tighter and tighter, the yellow flowers began to glow a burnt orange, almost seeming Red. 

Sam was filled with Fear. 

She shook, even as the roots held her steady. Blackness pooled nearby, a stretch of the sky dripping down like wax being poured onto a seal. The ache in her chest only grew as the liquid slowly started to take form. A creature that constantly seemed to be melting. A bone white mask pushed forward from the blackness, bits of which passively floated back up, towards the sky, even as the figure pushed forward. Sam recognized this entity, as something that should fill her with Fear…as something that had found her two years prior. The figure slowly approached, leaving in its wake brilliant poppies, which themselves seemed to spread out across the field. The Ache in Sam’s chest lessened slightly, even as she froze. Every single instinct in her very Soul told her that something about this being was wrong. It was unnatural. It sat outside her reality and felt as though an intruder, and yet…the Fear did not rise.

"W̵̨̙̞̰̱͖̪̫̼̝͕͔͌̏̾́̚ę̵̛̯̘̹̼̮͕͙̱̺͓͒͌̋̈́̋͛̿̚͜͠'̴̜̝̲̠̟̬͔̄͊̓͌͒̄̚͜v̷̨͈̯̲͇̫͓̗͍̲̌̃e̵̯̫̗̯͈̜̣͖̯̮̪̝̽͂̈́̂͆̑̆̕͝͝͝ͅ ̶̹̯̥̝͙͉̞͈̱̈́̈́̉̎̎m̷̧̪̣͍̟̊͊͐̿͜͠ě̷̟̊̈̓̽̃̉̌̀̋͗̓̒̉̿͠ͅẗ̵̢̨̨̢̳̰̗̫̗̳̣͇́̽̚ͅ ̵̢̻̮̼̹̜̤̰̄̈́͌̓̊̂̿̓̈́̍͒́̍̊̚̚͜b̴̨͔̞̯̭͎̬̝̫̼̰̯̹͇̰̳̐͋͑͊̓̈́̽̓͘͠͝ȩ̶̨̧̡̨̫̦̝̖̞̩̤̤̩̇ͅf̷̣̺̹̫͓̲̦̈͑̈̋̿͜ò̴̗̗̫͛̾̎̃̓̚ͅr̴̛͓̩̺̝̙̜̣̻̓̓̌͛̈̎̍͑͋̑̒̏̄̚͝ȩ̵̜̭͈̥̊̃͒͐͛̇͝͝.̶̡̨̡̦̥̝̼̣̙͚̩̈́̓̃̃̄͑̂́͆̎̍̂̆͘͘͜ͅͅ" 

the sound it made, like many words all overlapping--a thousand voices speaking over one another, distorting any semblance of a message. 

"̶̢̡̳̜̝̳̑͆͊̄̌̎͋͑̉̆͂̅͘̚W̶̛͙̱̋͑̈́̂̒̒ȩ̴̢̙̣̼̩͓̈́̓'̴̧͍̝̹̟̫̲̣͗̿̇̀͒͊͂͛̋̌̕ḷ̸͇̠̠͙͓͒͊̚̚l̷̞̞̯̱̦͇͂̃ ̵͉̂̆̿̉̕͝m̷̛͓͉͕̫̘̘̦̤͐͌́̉̋̈́̑͆͗̈́̊̈́̐̇͝ḛ̵͑̅͒͆̑̄̎̾͛̎̃̊͌̔͊͘ë̷̛̮̙̣̲̭̻͈́͋̈́̊͋͊͜͝͝t̶͈͈͔̥̺͎͔͇̹̬̪̗̳͌͂͂̓̎͜ͅ ̵̫̯͙͇͎̮̠͔͇̻̦̝̥̘̽͌͜͜a̴͉͒̃͑̂̍̾̓̾͘͝͝g̴̢̪͍̪̤̠̹̪͓͙̱̼̣͇̭͋̏̈́͜a̴̡̪͇̤̯̲͚̽̾̀̑͘͜į̷̤̦̩̠̠̫̭̟͍̙̮̗̪̲͙̈͋̏̿͑̑̔̈́̈́͂̌͊͌͜ň̴͕̼̮̖̞͚͇̩̫ͅ.̴̗͚̎̾̎͑̓̍͗͐͝"̸̨̲̦͍̳̣͙̲̫̣̲̣͑̿̾̎̈̿̍͋͆

It outstretched a bone white hand, something clutched between its fingers. A bundle of green herbs, though she did not recognize them right away. 

“̷̡̗͍̼̱͇͉̱̫̱̙̿̈̚Ť̸̢̢̧̤͇͙͍̼̜̟͑̊̌̎̽͐͛͋̆̈́̃̚ͅh̷̝̳̼͌͗͜i̶̜͒̂̏̑̅̄̾͑̇̔͒͐̎͝͝͠s̷̛̬͎̞͖͉͈͍̻̘̤̬̞͇̋́̔͊̍́̽̅̚͠,̵̬̗̮́͆̌̑̇͝ ̸̡̡̦̳̠͍͍͚̏́̾̈́͂͑͌̓͜ǐ̴͕̝̲͂̔̑̚s̴͉̈͑̍͒̾͌̿̄͛̕̕͠͠ ̷̻͖̜͉̫͎͇͎͗̇̄̚͝ỏ̸͕͕̠̾ū̵̥͕͓̤͕̖̤̮͋̂̊̅ţ̴̢̧̞̼̹̠̤̖̹͉̼̒̊̇͋̑̀͘ ̵̦̼̝͖̲̠͚̟̯̍̈̽̕͠ͅỡ̶̺͉̣̜̻̞͍͔͚̯̎̇̈̓̄͗͒͑͋̇̽͑̚͜͜f̷̛̤̩̫̠͎̭̝́̈́̏̄͛̀̈̏͂͜͜͠ ̷̢̨̡̞̥͕͕͈͎̠̲̗͇͔̫͚̀̎͒͑͋́͆̀̐̍̈͘ǫ̵̛̜͓̮̻̮͖̗̯̳̜͉̙̬͑̎̇̈́̈̒̈͋̑̎̑͜ͅŗ̶̨̣̞̣̹̘͇̭̘̘̩̮̙̱̃͜ḏ̷̡̡̛̱̲̘̙̙̮͚͕̮̠̭̖̃̂͂̾͊͆͘̚͜e̵̫̝̣͛͛̔̃̂̿̑͂̐̓̾͑͠r̴̢̯̱̜͎͙̜͕̫̱̤͖̼͕̬̄͆̊͋͜ ̸̧̻̯̬̠̜͕͓͈̺̮͙͒̓͜͠f̶̬̼̭͑͊̓̄̆͆̒͊̽̉̚o̴̡̬̒͊̌r̸̨̨̩̙̣̺͓̣̙̗̥̝̗̰͍̜͉͆̂̑̚ ̵̪̰̪̰̤̤̜͛̏̆̽ỷ̴͉̲͚͖̲̣̇̈̿̆̎̋́͒̅̑͂̑͜͝o̵͉̩̳̍̆̆̂͂͛̄̆͂̇̌͘͝͠͝͠ů̶̢̨̬͖̩̘͚͓͈̣̫̺̥̥̒͗̐̂̈́̎͒͐͂̐͘͜͝.̵̢̨̧͉͚̭͎̝̱͍̯̱̥͈̊̈́̉͛̈̑̀̈́̌͂̃̅̽̋ ̷̛͖̜̗͉͍̃͂͒̾̐̍̄̅͌̆̾͆̕͝Ḓ̷̡̪̥͙̰͚͕͔͒̀̓͌͛̑̈ǫ̴̟̪͙̣͓̙̣̥͈̗͌̓͒̈̒̀͗͆̍̎̒̕͝ ̸̘̻̥͕̲͎͕̗̞̦͔̘̻͒Ņ̷̡̢̱͔̮͕̙̫͓̞̙̺̻̃̉̎̏̍͌̋̈́͐̓ö̸̦̭͚͎̫t̴͎͈̯̻͙̙̹̯̎̑̓̔͋̽͐̄̕̕ͅ ̷͎̟̌F̴̛̛̻̱̫̱̭͕̹̅̓̋͌̐͝ę̴͕͔̰͓͉̻̤̣̓̊̿̃̆̊̔͊̊͗̑̎́̈́̑a̵͙̳̻̮̙̝͖̩̩̺̥̐̉͋̆̈̂͒̄͆̏̋̓́̍̑̕͜r̷̢̜͇̱̼̠̱̩̹̖͎̮̰̙̹̈̏̋͋͊́͗͒͑̅̇̈́͗͒̕̕̕.̸̨̛̛͓̲̩͕̝̊͌̍̔̑̎͒̅̋̈́̽̿͘”̸̛̣̻̣̣̬͍̬̠̪͇̠̳̰̺̟̙̫͐̒͗̒̅̐͑̔̈̒͐͘̕͠ The being pushed the herbs into her hands, trembling. 

"̸̧̛̼̖̫͓̞͎͆̉̈́̆͐̀̄̐Ȉ̵̤̯͈͓̮̟̼̦̥̩̗̩̺̼̭͐̿̆̆̌͛̋̾̆͝ͅ'̵̜̬͙̩̪̺̅̍̇̕͝v̴̡̱͉͗̑̏͗̾̅̓̍̔̽̏̃̑͘͠e̸̢̝̬̻̝̭̰̹̹̮̰͕̮̺̜̔́̀͒̌͌͂͂͗̓͂͘͝ ̵̢̧͇̮͈̲͉̩̖̞͚͎̫͙̪͛̿̉͒̏̽̌̾̔͑̚̚l̷̨̢̯͚̥̫͜ȏ̸̡͔͚͓̟͈̣̞̐͌̅̿͐̀̇̍̌̀͗̒͝͝ȍ̷̡̰͙̼͎̲̪̭̣̽͋̐̇͐̓́̃̓͐͌͘͠ͅķ̷̛̼̙̝̱̞͙̭͈̖̘̣̯̫͜e̵̮̣͈͎̼̱̥͕͊̇͌͗͌̇͘͝ͅd̸̢̧̢̛̠͔͓̜̩̪̟̣͍̿̐͒͐̀̔͆̒̂̔̊̕͝ ̵̛̤̺̲̣͉̳̞̱͒̋̈͒̿̊͂̉̊́̉͜ͅą̴̡̢̢̡̧̛̛̜̼̬͎̺̖̪̟͎̰̟̋͐͂̎̂͐̈́̃͊̌̚͠t̷̡̰̪̺̯̻͎̳̲̺͎̃ ̶͎̩͍̪̣̠̮̊̆̔̏͗̏̂̆̄̈́͝l̴̨̛̬̗̥͐̋̎̔̈͗̒͐͝͝͠a̷͉͖̋̑̃͗̈̈͑̉̽̍̕ș̶̡̝͖̙͕̟̲̮̫͎̑̃̕̚͝ẗ̶̹͚̪̻͉́̃̕̚,̷̢̛͎͚̤̲̟͚̥͕̥̜͎̏̐̉̓̔̃͑̈́̀͊͛͜͝͝ ̵̢̢͙͂̇̊̓̆̏͛ã̴͙͉̯̺̯̹̞͚̠̞̲̜̬̟̹̇̽ͅn̵̲̐͒̂͝͠d̸̯̗̠͖͔̺̭͉̬̩̬͈̥͛̕ ̸̢̮̟̜̮̯̦̙̠̞̪̺̻̖͖̻̌̾̄̏͆̉͛̾͋͐͌̄́̂s̶̢̡͚̫̰̦͉͓͎̦̬̐̅̽̋̈̎̃̈́͐͑̐̅̒͜͝ę̶̢̨̛̤̩̭͙̺͚͈̙̙̮͇͎̀̔̈͐͐͊͊͛̾͘̚e̵̪̥̰̺̱͕̥̜̖̝͆̾̓͗̄̊̈̈́̌̈́̒͗͐̓̚̚͝n̷̨̓ ̴̮̙̳̈́̏̏͂̽̏̋͌̌̐͒̊̑͋̕͘͜t̷̛̗͈̠̣̰̭͎̥̭̝̻̩͖͐̈́͛͒̇̑̓̒̒̓̚͝h̵̡̤͓̖͈̺͙̯̬̙͚͎̿̆̆̎̓͋̏͛̈́̐̽̔̓̓̚͘͜͝ͅë̷͓̹͍̺̞̪͚͔̱͓͇̻́̍̽̂͑͑̀̈̑̄͒̑̈͘͠ ̷̛̼̹̭̲̣͎̘̒̅͂́͆̌̾̐̇̍̈̓͋̓͘͠ẗ̸̲͎̬͍̳̝̼̰̾̀̒͂̚̕͝r̷͎͕͒͊u̴̡̠͔̦̮̩͕̘͇̖̠̝͂͒͂̅̑̒̚ṭ̷̰̗͑̕͜h̴̡͇̫̟̲͇͎͆͊̿͂̂͐͛̓͘͠.̶̧͚̰͚̱͙͔̥̠̈́̅̃͗̋̒͂͆͜"̷̢̧̡̟̞̫͔̠͓̞̼͚̗̠̺̐̋̿͒͗̈́̏̓̓͠

the tone of the being sounded almost...hopeful? And it scared her to no end. 

"̴̨̲̱͙̪͓͉̹͕̤̺̥̮̮̭̎̐͗̽͜͝Y̷̧̢̪̟͍̗̣̬͕̪͕͛̾̔̓̾̋̕̕͜o̵̲̖͓̳͎̖̫͒̃̈́ư̸̟͕͇̠͍͔̥͂̓͆̈́'̷̛̞̭͉̄̈́̾̔̂̄͗̈́̓͒̚͘͝v̸̢͓̗͙̗̲͍̜͍̫͓͓̊̇́͛̎̈̉͒͒͂̒̚͝e̸͇̪̺̯͔̗̻̟̱̠͍͑̈́͛͘ͅ ̸̨̛̻̤̬̬̦̰̮̗͍̞̹̃̈́̓̑̓̔̍̐̐͗̇̎͜͜a̵̧̢̖̗̝̥͔̟͌͆̂̈́̌̓̽̐̔͂̚ͅ ̶͈͓̩̲̯̪͓͍̺͋͂ŗ̷̢̻͚̘͍͓̤̗ŏ̸̼̞̼̩̞̠̟̤̫͑͒l̷̰̓̌̿e̶̢͔̜͉̜̒̋͛̊͌̑͑̿̇͆͗́̋͠͝ ̷̯̩͇̝̜̝̭̼̭͝ţ̴͈͙̳̺̤̠͕̠̟̌̊́͒̂͂͛ọ̵̘̗̤̦̼̟̞͆̃́͐̽ ̴̡̻̯͎͉̫̹̬͂̅̽̃̍͐̀̋͜͜͝ͅͅp̶̧͍̪͕̣̗̩̤͖̫̝͆͒̈́͑̃̋ͅl̴̡̧̧̼̝̬͔̫͕̙͕̭͙̜̼̥̹͐͑̋a̴̹͖̺̎̕ÿ̴̞̈̍͒̀̈́̀̚͘͠͠ ̶̼̦̳̮̯͎͈̟̫̂̔́̃̐̂͊̊̈́̓̈i̵̤̟̗̫̐͌̒̐̈̽n̷̹͇͖͔̯͔̖͔͎̘̖͇̯̙͔̯͋̓̀͊̅̉͂̈́͝͝ ̸̢̛̠̪̞̘̖̳̩̐͂͛̎̏̓̓͗̕ṫ̷̢̨͓̞̥̀̎̏̈́͊͐͂͊̽͆̈͆̒͝ḫ̶̡̘͍̹̟͉̺̬̊͘͜ͅį̴̨̙̦̼̻̗̗̒̃͋̓̈́͜͠͝͠͝s̶̨̺̟̲̟̎ ̸̢̤͉̲̞̼̫͓̹͔͇̰͛̅́́̅́̊̍͋͑́̒̑̏̚͘͝T̷̢̨̠̹͈͓̥̪̫̬̞̗̻̊a̸̛̛̙̼̫̭̭̓͛̄̔̏͌͆̑͒l̵̛̮̲̼̥̟̍̈́̄̄͒͘e̸͓̳̓̍̉̈́̅̉̿̃̕̚̚͜.̶̱͊̎͂̃̋̇̀͋͘ ̷̧̖̳̬̭̫̳̘̜̅͐̐̒̈́ͅͅĄ̵̢̪͇̺͖̹̣̹̞͉͉̬̺̻̘̎͜͝ ̷͍͇̜͔̜̳͒̾̏̂̄̊̓̾̂r̷̛͉͛̇̇͛͆̓̈̄͘͘ǫ̴̖̺̘̘̗͖͊͋͌̈̊̾͋̈́͋̌͗̕̚͜l̵̨̳̓̿͛͛̂̓͌e̵̡͙̠̻̻̟̯͉̣̺͔ ̸͙͉͚̙͌̋̿̋̉̑̂̿̂̕͝͠t̴̢̛͍͕̪̭̭͗͋̓̌̊͂͂̆̊̕͜ḧ̷͚̤̦̯͉̩̰́̂̍̅̌̾͌̑͒̈̔͆̕̚͝ā̸̛̦̖͍͚̟̳̖͙̫͍̥͚̿̋̀t̴̗͓̪̳͚̺̦̂̄ͅͅ ̴̛̞̜̈̈́̈͋̔̎͊͝ỉ̸̧̠̣͍͓̱̯̱͖͓͖̘̝͑̍̓̚s̸͎͇͆̇̋̃́̍͋̾͠ ̶̦͖̪̪̤̣͎̥͖̫̄̌̄̑̔̾̍̈́͋̎ý̵͙̅͌̃͂͐̌͆͆̄͑̒̕̕̚o̵̱̤͇̖͕͂ú̴̜̿͛͒̈́̏͋̈́̎̏͐͘ṙ̴͈̮̟̯͌̋̏̂̋͌̔͋͆̈́̌̈́͘̚͘͠ ̴̢̧̫̈͒̇͑̍́̓̌͠ơ̵̢̧̨̨̛̻̠͎̜̫̯̟̰̟̣̘̪̟͋̈̎͋̽͛͑̾͊͘̕͝͝w̶̨͓͍͚̩̰̮͗͊̓̌̆n̶͖͚̦̣͚̗̱̘̜̹̳̼͍̬̈́̏̆́̉͑͐̊͑.̵̨͚͚̯͎̳̪̼̯̺̦̔̄́ ̴͙͙̋͑̓̑̚̕͜T̵̛͇͍̲̦̦̞͓̥̋͐͑̓͆ͅo̶̮̰̜̮̟͓̅̾̋͋̓̃͌͐͆̈́̀͠ ̷̖͇̠̀s̸̭͈̠͇͕͉͕̥͖̈́̔̒̐̓e̷̻̮̝̾̃̓͛͂̀͐͑̃̃͌̌̕͠͝͝ê̴̛͎͒̐͠ ̶̢͍̪̭̜̥̹̞̐̾̂̋͋̈̆̄͛̐͑͋̇̚̕͝͝í̸̤͇̹̙̪̥̠̖͂̀̈́̉̄͗̆͗ţ̸̛͓̟̝̣̝̤̭͎̣͖͋͑̍̂̐ ̵̛̝̩̞̳̍̉̂̄̽̏͐̆́̔͌̂̇t̴͙̟̙͆͑̎͂̑͌̿̓̌̔̌̇̇̈́̀͆̋h̸̺̺̺̼̭̺͇͙̺͆͌̇̓̆̀͂̀̿̕ͅȓ̷͙͓̂͌͒͐̽ǫ̶̧̝̹̹͕̖̦̟̤͈̠̼͕̰͊͛́̿̊̂͒̈̚͜u̶̢͗̿́͑͊̒̀̈́̇̇̐̿́̈́͘͘ģ̶̹̫͇̮͇̣̩͈͔̟̩̓̇̊̾̏̒́́̊͊̈́̒̑͂̎́h̶͔͌̿͗̏̀̋̾̓̎̓̚͝ ̶̡̭͒̈́ţ̸̪̗̖̲̞̖̜̳͖͑͐̐̅͒̔͆̔̌̕͘͘͝o̵̢̡̢̡̜̺͍̦͓͓͓̖͚͉͔̯̳͒̓͐͒ ̶̢̟̗̼͕̼͔̗̟̦͔͖̞͙͗͌̎̓̽̇̄͋̂̎̅̔̄͝c̶̹̮̲͈̉̐̅o̵̱̗͝m̶̧̲͕̱͆̃͐̊͠p̸̧̨̦̖͉̮̯̟̬̏ḻ̷̋͐̈́͋͐̋̈́̊̕͘͝͝͝ȅ̶̹͍̩̼̰̙̩̠̙͉̺̹͎͍͙t̴̻̱̲̳͇̼̦̖̙̹̟͉̙̂͂i̴̺̘̥̜͈̳͒͐́̒͂̈́̓͒̅̊̓̌̎̚͝͝ͅͅȍ̴̧̢̡̭̤͈̥̼̠͚͉͔̟̹̟̀͒̍̄̐ͅň̵̙͇̆͆.̴̢̹͓͙̮̳̜͑̆̏̃̀͜.̷̭̩̻͂̄̑̅͘͘̕ͅ.̵̢̡̥̠̮͕̭̞̳͈͉̖̻̭̍͐̃͋̊̾͋̅͛̔̈̆͜͝y̷̘̪̟̹̿̉̑̈́̂̋̈́̋̒̈́͘͜o̷̢̭̺̦͓̮̠̙̱̹͊̒͛̋̇͗̐̔̕ȗ̴̞̣̖̊͆̋͌̚͠'̶͓͓̤̺̗̥̼͎̩̥̊̃̍̒́̍͜͜ͅv̸̯̣̬̝̰͚̖̈́͘ͅę̷̘͙̦̝̳̖̣̙͇̯̇̊̒̽ ̸̧̩̺̮̟̻̘͔͙͈͍̟͆̒̇ͅͅş̸̛̜̼̤͙̻͛́͗͒̑̈́̇͐͑̕̕͝ḩ̸̨̲̝̗̜̫̼͉̖̮̈́̂̊̇̔͌͋̍o̷̙̪̟̞̲̪͔͇̱̥̤̤͚͔̭̐̏́̇̓̀̂͗̂̈́̕͝ẁ̶̧̪̝̙̬̖̞̖͙̥͔̻̟̜̦̭͆͑̾͆͜n̴̮̘̞̜͖͙͖͖͔̭͓̬͍͔̓͗͂̿̓̐̐̃́̃͜ ̴̨̹̦̾̌̄̏̅͋̉͝͠͝͝ͅm̵̰̃̃e̷̥̼̲̹̘̞͋̉ ̵̡̧̠͎̠̩̫̖̜̬̯̙̖̽̏̌͑͌ṯ̴̛͉͍̾̈́͌̈́̏͂̏͊͂͝h̷̨̲̤̣̭̣̤͙̰͍͕̒̉̍̏̅ã̷̻̳̗͓̐͆̽̍͂̑̅̽͛̋̈̅͊̈͘ẗ̴̞͙̯́̾̉͋̑̋̉̀͐̉͂̀͛͘͝ ̷̢̥̃̊̓͆͐̾͗̚͘y̶̡̧̨̪͚̣̯͈̟̎̉̈́̂̽̀͋̓͐̓̐̓̽͘o̸̤͈̯͔̙̯̞̺͉͚͍̩̱͚̗̺͂̽̄͗̈́͜͠ủ̸̘̲̳̘̣̥͈̰͍̠̦̯̮̬̠̋̾͒̌̉̋͑̽͒̓͘͝ ̵̦͔̥̅̔͌̓̆͛̄̈̿̈́̽̑̒͝͝͠ņ̶̮͎̗̼͓̲̍̀̇̌͜ͅȩ̸͍͚͎̗̮̥̳̬͎͖̲͈̌͐̎̈̿̎̾̏̈̄̓̄̔͂̉͝͠ẽ̵̢̧̨̡̡̠̱̠̤̥͇̺͖̳̔̇̋͒́d̶̡̫̝͚̣͑̑͆͗ ̴̢̛̖̱̻͙̺̬̟̥̭̇̂͐̈́̈́͂a̷̛̤̫̲̥̺̜̮̦̺̯̝̠͂́̇̉͑̋̅͐͜͝͝ ̵̧̡͙̜͖̲͓̣͎͍̟̄̾̌͊͑͂͒̚̚͜b̵̛̬͈͛̾̈́̄̈́̑̚͠i̴̖͓̯͇̗͆̾̄̈t̸̨̪͍̱̏̍̀̂͘͝.̶̗̺̩̭̳͎̼̑̈̌̈̊͠.̶̠̋̊̾͑̓͗̓̚.̵͓̲̉m̸̢̛̲̲̬̠̱͙̳͓̭̦̰̪̼̾̓̍̀̽̇̌̄͘̕͜͠͠͝o̵̹̒̎̾̐͐̌̾̾̏͝ŗ̴̞̰͉̥̄͒ͅe̸̢̛̦̗͙͙̬̯̮̙͂̀̽̃͛̆͒̿̚.̸̨͕͍̲̥̆͂͐͊̇͑̍̆̕͝͝"̷̨̨͚͍͍͍͕̘̗̻͎̈́̍̒̏̑̐͒̈́̋̋̚͘͜ ̵̧̧̡̤͇̫̗̺̀̈́̌͒͑͂̊̃̇̅̕̚͘͝ ̵̨̛̗̱̣͓̮̠͉̙̦͙̯̭́͋͘̚ 

the pitch of the voices dropped lower, as a different hand, not connected to the dripping mass of a thing before her, hovered in her peripheral. 

This close Sam could see all the little details--where joints connected. It was...skeletal, and yet solid. It almost reminded her of an insect’s exoskeleton as displayed in some of her books. There was a hole in the center of this hand, which she should have been able to peer right through, and yet...there was only darkness. A darkness darker than the drops of blackness which were slowly melting up back into the sky. As her eyes faintly followed their path skyward, she became aware of a creaking sound at the edge of the field.

"̵̢͎̦̱̠̙̤͈̯͎̮̮̣͚̚Ȳ̷̫͎̼̗͙͆̈́͊̑̄̀̈́̃͋̕ͅͅͅo̴̜̳̤̪͐̐̃́̈́̍̌͆̑͗͝͝ụ̷̡̡̫͙̫̐͗͒̄̂͌́̌̆͂́̈̏͆͂r̵̡̟͈̗̟̠̮̩͙̰͔̐͛ ̶̬̦̦̩͈̩̖̣͕̗͇͓̪̣̌̉d̷̨̛̤̙͓͔͒͌͐͂̀͝r̴͖̖͊͐͛̓́̔̈́̓̔̈́̃͝e̷̢͈͔̼̻̝͕̤͍̭̖̓͆͊͜͜͝a̸̠͓̞̬̱̮͚̻̞̱͘͘m̸̨̨̝̗̲̱͉̗̗̱̥̞͉̝̝̤͂͌̉̆̓̽̉̈͌͋͑̔̐͌̉ ̶͇͚̮̮̝͊̍͌͒̎̕ͅḯ̶̧̛͉̝̬͙͗͠s̷̹̖̣̲͊͛̀ ̸̡̛̥̖̏͋̆f̴͋̈́͜͝r̷̰̬̖̯̖͍͍̪̠̱̘̺͙̗͚̉͊͒̍͋͑͗ͅã̸̧̠̮͚̹͎͈̬̜̖̪͎̪̺̣̋̌̓́͒c̶͓̘͙͇͙̱͓͇̜̦̬̟̼̊̂̂͒̒̐̾̉̐̑̈́͜͝͠t̴̨̛̯͇̬͎̮̗̂͂̂̏̆̇͐͆́̎̍̈́̕ǘ̸̙̭͙͈̟̟̤͕̼̊̓̔̓̀̽͂̋̒̏̚͘̕r̷̨̙͚̺̠͚̫͙̲̖͉͈͙̹̜͚͉̆̓̊͂̇̂͗i̶͍͔̫̜̗̩̺̲̝͉͈͉̲̅̈́̎͋͑̚͜͝ͅñ̴͖̗̳͎̞͇̥̣̞̻͇͓̫̿̐́͂̓̊̊̊͊̋̐̌̚g̶̠̝͙͙̹͎̍̌,̸̛̤̼̘̰̞̗̹̓̏̽̋̃̕͝͝ ̴̨͙̭̱͇̭̯̼̦͖̯̉̇̾͂̔͝S̶͕͊̇͐́͠ḁ̷̧͎̖̥̝̞̖̻̭͇̺̝̜̜͔̤̾̃̋̅̾̍̆͊m̸̧̭͇̭̗̬̺͎̘͔̖̣̯̑̃̀͒̏͒̅̐͆̏̄͋̒͘͘̚.̵̨̢̧͇̩͎̞̲̩͇̰͖͉̓̋̈́̈́̒̈́̈͐͗͋͠ͅ"̸͔͚̳͙̩̝̄̄͑͐̓́̚̕͝

She picked out her name, among the din of voices, attention shooting to the face which seemed to be...smiling at her. It was...eerie. 

"̴̼͙̟̫̟̭͓͖͓͇̂͝T̶̡̤̟͈̭̫̞̲̞̻̤̣̝̗̝̳͋̽͋͂̽̆̌̓͐̐͐̃̐͝ͅĥ̶̢̺̖̘̾͒̏͊̄̒̚̕ę̶̨͍̻̺̗̠͓͔͎͖̉͑̀̈́̊͗̐̏͛̂͒͜ͅͅ ̷̣͖̞̖̰̟̜̟̝̣͇̺̻̽̔͆͑͠V̷̧̧̟̭̯̣̝̗͚̲̫̣̭͍̫̇͋͒̋̾ơ̸͚͐̃͐̑̃͌͂͂í̵̻̘̞͉̦̞̬͇͈͊͜͝d̷̛̺̩̜̳̟͉̥̦̻̱̤͖̬͕̪̰͆̅̽̋̍ ̸̨̡̧̨̜̙̳̱̩̺̮̖̺͍̽̏̃̋̏̎̄̌̐̐̂͌̾̚̕͘w̴̡͈̖͔̣͔͛̇ì̴̖̣̥͉̼̦̭͓͔̻̂͝l̴̢͙̥̥̈́́͌̾ͅl̵̡̡̛͙̠͙̻̞̰̻̠͍̟̰̓̄͂̂̅̊̉͒͒̈́̿̈́͝͠ ̴̺͙̂͑͋̈̅̒̔̊̈̋͑͝c̶̢̱̰̲̞̝͉̱̩̥̈͂̄̅͒̈́̔ͅl̵̡̹͔̭͉̝͂̊̌̔̃ă̵̢̡̨̗͈̗̖̜͙̹͎̿̍̅̔͛̑̆̕͝͠ì̶̢͚̤̹̯͐̉̈́͗̽̋͑̈́̽̓̀͘͠͝m̸̙̥̻̠̣͙͚͑ ̵͈̯̣͎̺͐͊͋̐ͅy̶̡̨̡̢̖̱͈͓̠̒̑̎̔͜o̴͚̙͐̑̽̋͠ų̶̺̭̼͕̮͍̙̦͙̰͍͚̲̇̎͜ ̸̨̘̻̟̇͗͛̓͂̆̈̈́͗͊ḯ̶̧̛̛͇͛̋̓͑̾̐̑͘f̵͖͓͕͕̝̲͚̯̥̱̺́̌̊͒͆͜ ̸͍͉̄͂̇̌̍͌̈́͐͆͘͠y̷̧͓̣͓͆͐͗̊o̷͇̯̬̖͕̰͈͙͎̲͓͗͋̓̄ṷ̶̥̀͂̔̂̔̂͛̅̂̇͛͂͘ ̷̡̛̜̘̙̾͊̃̃̋̕d̶̮̀͊̈́͛̓o̶͖̬͔̩̞͔̙̖͚̹͐̽̾̉͐̽̽͒̔͝ͅ ̸̛̗̞̩̟͑̾̌̓̇̎͂̒̔̏̂́̚̕͘n̶̢̛͍̗̄̅͋̏́͐͂͗̇̈́̄̊̿̈͝͠ö̴̢̧̢̞͓̺͉͈͎̲̖́̈́͌̾̍̕͜͝t̸̗̯̭̟̝̻̟͉̠̯̫̑͌̈́́̃͐͋̉͗͠h̴̤̼̗͔̟͋i̴̛͕̞̼͎̜̗͇̦͒̾̎̎̚͜͝ṅ̸̡̛̦͔̰̂̒̍͛̒̎̆̅͑͝g̷̻̬͎͉̬̦̘̠̳̱̥͔̠͎͕͒͑̿̀̎͐̑̅͒͛̔̕͠.̶̨̧̢̲͇̖̬̫̯̹̺̝̯͕͎͛̊̏͗̇̑͋̿̈́̓̽̓̈́ͅ"̵̨̣͔͓̤̺̙͔͗̿̽̔͂͒̐̍̑̐̌͜͠ 

Movement drew her eyes back towards the hand, which floated as though expecting something. Slowly, shakily, Sam reached her own hand towards the floating one. The Ache in her chest only grew more and more intense. 

The moment their hands connected, the bone white structure gripped fast, drawing a startled cry from Sam. She tried to pull away, but the roots still held her fast, and the hand would not be loosed. From the center of the hole, the darkness crept, covering the white of the hand on its way to her. A scream welled in her throat, threatening to overtake her as a shattering noise could be heard.

Sam felt at once pulled in a million different directions, the pain...excruciating. Slowly, the burnt orange glow of the remaining carnations faded bit by bit, until it was grayer than anything else. Her right arm was pitch black from the elbow down, with black veins slowly crawling their way up the rest of her arm. 

"̶̛̞͈̞̹̈̃͗͆̈́͘͜G̴̤̺̳̗̮̟̻̺̙̲̊͛̆̑a̵̠͈̯͖̫͌̎̈́̓̓̏͋̃̄̉͝z̶̲͙͐̋̂̈̍̅́́̓̓̉̈́̑̕͘͝͝ę̵̡͖͇͚̭͚̫̘͚̮͚͍̺͇̀́̓̈́̍̓̿ ̵̢̲̫͈̥̚į̴̤̦̼̱̤̠̻͔͙̖͈̜̲͒͒͊̂̓͂̾̓̚̚͝n̷̡͑̈͐̑̽̎̃̓͆̑́͗̕t̵̜͕͚̟̒͒̓̋̄̐̌̎ǒ̵͖̗̗̣̣̜͍͚͉̲̪̼̘̟̞̪̌͑̇̽̐ ̶̧̟̭͎̩͖͓̝͇̹̞͒̆̕t̸̨̛̟͙̻̤͐̾̓̃́̂͛̍̚͝h̴͈͓̻̦͉̰͔̾͒ͅe̷̢̢̢̥͕̯̱͔̱̳̼̜̮̫̓͐̈́́͌̏͒͝ ̵̲͕͙͕̲̹͐̈́̇̚̕V̴̬̯͍͇̦̗̺̬̦̫͊̍̅͒̂̈́͗͗͋̅͐̚͜͝ǫ̶̧̗͖̫̘̲̣̱̬̥̼̯̿į̴̰̻̼̰̠̈́̌d̵̡̺͔͕̥̬̟͍̯͔̮̽͒̍̒̎̑̈̋͐̉̑͗̐͘̕͝ͅ.̶͈̟͔̜̫͋̕͠.̶̬̭̐̈́̔͂͊̽̓͌͑̋͑̋̕͝.̴̣̦̽̒̋͆̄̋̅͋͛́̇͌͂̊̔ą̸̛̼̳̖͓̻̩̣̝̞̦͎͕͂͋̓́͛̐̃̓̽̐͋̚͠n̷̨̧͈̰̩̲̱̦̭̱̣̞͇̜̟͖̐̔̍͗̈́̆͘͝d̶̢̯͇̱̖͇̥͌̒̿̿̏̌̈̈̈͂͐ ̷̨̛̭̙̲͚͋̓͗̅͑͗̏̓̊͛̋̓̏̕̚͝t̵͍͉̞̉̑̉̉̈́͒̈̆̌̽͌̾͜͝͝h̷̢͍̱̖̜͉͙͚̖̯͓̲̗̦͕͉̒̏ȇ̵̱̙̜̟̟͊̇̌̾͐͂͝ ̸͙̦̬͈̈͌̿V̶̨̧̧̛̛̖̥͎͎̤̣̍̌̄͊̀̎̔͑̌͘͠͝ọ̸̰͉̘̘̦̭̈͌̿̄͜i̴̡̮͖̯̖̩͇̍̾̋͑̂̂ͅd̵̛̹͊̅͛̀͛͋̽͋̊͆̐̕͠ ̸̨͔͚̰̲͕̈͂̉g̶̲̻̫̥̮̠̼̖̅̀͗̈́̔͗̽̓̾̈́̑̽̚͝͝͝͝â̶͙̜͔͈͂̀͛̅͐̎̾͌͂̃̓͑̾̇͊͠z̴̝͓̮͈̺̟͈̤̦̼͕̟̮̮̙̭͐̽̇̎͂̃̇̀̀̊̃ē̶͓͎͓̪̫̱̦̼̈͗̂͛͊̎͛͆̇͗̉͆̚s̵̛͓̰͔̹̓̅͆̓̃̍̆̀̽̈́̀͘ ̴̡̡̱̮͖̮͚̬͔͖̖̮̝͚͕͕̉͐͐̐͊̍̒͂̊̌̓͑̊̃̕͝͝b̷̪̰̙͔̙̞̝͎̣̖̝͎̒̌̆â̸̛̩̾̆̈̽̋̄͝c̴͓͈̳̝͉͖̻̗̪̩̪̬͇̗͍̠͊̾̔̐́̈̎͂͊̿̓̊̍͌͋̕k̸̨̖̝̯͔̙̱̾́̾̃̒͒̑̆͑̕̚͘,̶̛͔̿̂ ̶̡̨̛͖̤͑̏̈́͗̓͒̀̽̾͐̿͒͝ͅS̵̞͈̦̹̞͈̯̪͖̮͙̳̀͗̈̐̃ḁ̵̯͙̖͇͍̤̿͑̔̽̽͌̈̍͛͝m̷͎͎̣͚̀̽̒̏̍͝.̴̢̩͔̖̲̳̩̥̻̌̅́̃̍̒͗̈́͒̌͒͜͝ ̵̩̼̝͌͒̚W̴̱̞̌̿̑̔̈́̊̈̽̏̃̋̕e̷̛̼̞̋͑̇̽̎̈̄̽̈́̉̇̐͑̚ͅ'̴̡͉͚͓̗̝̫͆͗̊̎̀͆́̈́̍̈́̿͠͝ļ̵̛͎̖̓͌̾̊͛̋̀̆̐͊̈́̇̑̚͝ĺ̴͇̹̈̃̔ ̷̙̱̹̣̬͔͋̿̔͒̀̂̈́̈͊͒̌͠͠͝ͅm̵͚̯̬͗̃̂͑̄̍̓͂̕̚̕e̸̛͖͓̮̭̩̦͕̎̏̈́̔̾̄͂̏̅͛̉͜͠e̸̳͈̳͇̤͈̰̱̙͔̱̝͔̘̒̇͂̐̒̏̉̕͝ͅt̷̢̡̤̱͇̙̮̘̱̳͍̤̳͚̿̒̋̔̈́͆̒̑̔͆̒̂̚ͅ ̴̦͚̝̭͔̠̺̣͇̬͖͍̈̈́̓̽̔͐̕̕ą̴̛̤̙͓͖̟͉̺̲̙̩̗͙͚̓̐̅̒̓͗̃͊͋̇̂̄͐́̆ͅͅģ̸͙̳̘̙̣̗͚͕̰̦͂̈́͊̑̓̇̄͑̅́̊͊̎̕̚a̸̱͕̩̳͔̣̹͔͉̼̳̻̰̐̍̐̇̋̿̃̾̃̋͘͝ȋ̸̡͈̟͋̔͗̍̽̎n̵̪̈̐.̵̧̛͔͛̽͑͋̀͋͑̈́̅͌͑̽̈́͘͠"̵̧̧̡̣̦̜̮̹̱̻͖̼͙͍͎͓̆̉̃̇̔̊͐́̽̃̽͂̕͘̚ ̸̧͚̟̹̳̫̺̖͉̪̮̬̱̯͎̈̃̊̋̎̒̎͆͜

Sam sat up in her bed with a scream, her heart running painfully fast in her chest. Her hand fluttered over the spot, only for a feeling of ice-cold dread to wash over her. She stared down in disbelief. There, beneath her skin...her veins looked black. She was filled with Fear. She couldn't help it...she started laughing. An uncontrolled, manic laughter followed swiftly by tears as she stared down at her arm.

This wasn't real, this wasn't real, this wasn't real. 

This wasn’t real, this wasn’t real, this wasn’t real. 

This wasn’t real, this wasn’t real, this wasn’t real.

The light flicked on to her room, and with it, the black veins disappeared. 

It wasn't real.

A shuddering breath, as pressure weighed against her bed. 

"Sam?" her sister's voice reached out to her, though Sam’s gaze did not initially leave her arm. "I found out what happened today in class." another small giggle was all the fourteen-year-old got in response. "I want you to know, that no matter what...you're always more than they give you credit." Her sister’s arms wrapped around Sam as the teenager pulled her in close for a hug. "You don't need them. I'll be your valentine."

"That was yesterday."

"It's eleven fifty-three." Her sister reached behind her and grabbed something, pushing it into Sam's hands. The plant from the dream. A mixture of green. 

"What...is this?"

"Coriander. It's an herb. Not much to look at right?" she gave Sam a patient smile, only continuing when Sam said nothing. "I know you're having a rough time...but you're still a Schrödinger. Which means...you've hidden worth. Everyone in this family is amazing at something. You just have to find what that is for you. This herb, symbolizes hidden worth. It's used in several dishes that would otherwise be incomplete without it."

"Almyra..." Sam's voice cracked as she threw her arms around her sister, and cried out her stress and worry. Almyra, for her part, patiently held onto her as she cried, humming softly as they rocked back and forth. 

Sam was Ten years old, when she learned flowers had a language all their own, and that same day, she thought she understood that the only ones who understood it, where the ones that truly mattered in life. The people who would take the time, to look a little deeper.

**Author's Note:**

> Zalgo text, because wingding's wasn't being friendly. xD
> 
> I enjoyed writing flowers into this. I may yet repeat that pattern, a tad subtler, in future writings overall. Shared and otherwise.


End file.
